


Negotiations

by hawksonfire



Series: Mandatory Fun Day [6]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Awesome Clint Barton, Boys Kissing, Bucky Wears Makeup, Clint also wears makeup, M/M, Mandatory Fun Day, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, POV Bucky Barnes, Popsicles, SWEET BOYS, i love them, i still will not be taking questions, no i will not be taking questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18866089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: Bucky hasn't had a popsicle since he moved into the Tower. Clint needs to fix that right now, immediately.





	Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mandatory Fun Day's [ prompt ](https://mandatoryfunday.tumblr.com/post/184845900363/okay-winterhawklings-this-week-lets-think-frozen) on Tumblr. Hope y'all enjoy!

**Bucky**

“Do you eat popsicles?” 

Bucky blinks. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” Clint smirks. Bucky wants to bite that smirk off his face. “I asked if you eat popsicles. Wasn’t sure, considering the whole thing where you were frozen on and off for seventy years.”

Sitting beside Bucky, Steve turns white. “Clint, you can’t just -”

“Haven’t had a popsicle yet,” Bucky interrupts. “Why? You got something for me to suck on?”

Now Steve turns pink. “Bucky -”

Clint ignores him. So does Bucky. “Yeah, I think I might,” Clint says, running a critical eye over Bucky. “You’ll have to put on something that doesn’t let everyone see your dick, though.”

“Their loss,” Bucky shrugs. He casts a quick glance down and - yep, Clint was right. There’s a hole in the crotch of his sweatpants, and were he not wearing underwear, his dick would indeed, be visible. Well, thank fuck for the decision to put on underwear then. 

“Meet me outside in ten?” Clint offers. Bucky nods. He drains the last of his coffee and heads to his room. Is this a date? Or just two bros, hanging out? Bucky shrugs. He’d probably wear the same thing either way. His therapist says it’s a good thing that he’s taking pride in his body. Bucky secretly agrees - and it doesn’t hurt that he knows his ass looks fucking amazing in skinny jeans. 

He grabs his skinniest pair and shimmies them on, pulling a black short sleeve over his head and carefully pulling a red flannel over that, expertly pulling the fabric down his arm and avoiding getting it caught in the plates. He grabs a grey slouchy hat from his dresser and yanks it on. So sue him, he has the fashion sense of a ‘hipster’, whatever the fuck that is, as Stark calls it. It’s comfortable as fuck, and personally, Bucky thinks he’s earned a little comfort in his life. 

He swipes on a little bit of eyeliner - fuck off, it makes his eyes look awesome - and looks himself over in the mirror. Damn, he looks good. 

Bucky really fuckin’ hopes this is a date.

He grabs his phone and heads towards the elevator. “‘Bout damn time, Barnes,” Clint drawls as he steps outside, squinting as the bright light hits his eyes. “What, you stop to do your makeup?”

“Yeah, actually,” Bucky says, winking. “Gotta look good if I’m leavin’ the Tower, right?”

Clint blinks at him. Hah. Take that, fucker. “I didn’t know you wore makeup,” he says, jerking his head to direct Bucky. 

“Don’t normally,” Bucky says, shrugging, “Wanted to today. Problem?”

“Not at all,” Clint says easily, and something inside Bucky uncoils at his tone. He was pretty sure that Barton wasn’t one of those ‘make-up is for women and sissies’ types - which it  _ isn’t _ , and those people can  _ fuck right off, _ thank you very much - but it’s always nice to be proven right. “I enjoy a decent lipstick from time to time, myself.”

And oh. Bucky wasn’t expecting that. “Any suggestions? I’ve been having trouble finding a decent smudge-proof deep purple, myself. Everything I’ve been able to find feels... tacky.”

And so the conversation starts on good smudge-free lipstick, and somehow (Bucky knows  _ exactly _ how) turns into a conversation on the best blowjob lipstick. 

“It depends, alright?” Clint says, amicably bumping Bucky’s shoulder with his as they walk. “I’m all for keeping the makeup fresh, but sometimes a guy likes to see a little smudging. Makes for a good reminder, y’know?”

“You’re not wrong,” Bucky says, “But I have yet to find a person who enjoys having smudged lipstick on their face after the fact.” Clint turns pink and looks away, and now Bucky’s curious. “What? Don’t leave a guy hangin’, sweetheart.”

Clint mumbles something too fast for Bucky to catch. At his lifted eyebrow, Clint sighs and says, “I said, I wasn’t talking about smudging lipstick on my face.”

Bucky blinks. What is he - oh.  _ Oh _ . “Good to know,” he says smoothly. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“It’s just a little bit further, you’ll love it, promise,” Clint says, eyes sparkling - and Bucky would probably do anything for that smile.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Bucky says, obediently following Clint along. 

They talk about nothing for the next few minutes until they round a corner and Clint says excitedly, “That’s it!” He heads towards an honest-to-God ice cream cart, practically bouncing out of his skin in excitement. 

“The Popcycle?” Bucky asks, reading the print on the cart. 

“Hey, don’t knock it ‘til you try it,” Clint says, grinning at him. “Hi, Pops! Busy today?”

“Oh, you know how it is, Clint,” the guy behind the cart says. It’s an elderly guy, practically all skin and bones, but the smile on his face tells Bucky he certainly doesn’t feel his age. “There are up and downs, just like always.”

“Bucky, c’mere,” Clint says, beckoning him over, “Pops, this is Bucky. He’s never had one of your popsicles and seeing as how that’s a crime, I hadta bring him to see you. You got somethin’ for us?”

“I can probably dig something out,” Pops says indulgently - and now Bucky’s wondering how Clint knows this guy because they’re treating each other like family, and he thought Clint grew up in Iowa. 

Pops pulls open a little hatch on his cart and digs around for a minute, muttering to himself. “Aha! Here we go,” he says triumphantly, pulling out two popsicles; one pink and one purple. 

“Thanks, Pops,” Clint says, pulling out his wallet, “How much -”

“Put that away,” Pops says sternly, “You know you don’t have to pay here.”

“Aw, but Pops -” Clint whines.

“Nope,” Pops says cheerily, “Don’t want to hear it. Take the treats and scram, boy.”

“I’ll get you one day,” Clint threatens, grabbing the popsicles. 

“I’m sure you will,” Pop says, “But until that day comes, you don’t pay.” 

Bucky watches the interaction, raising an eyebrow. What did Clint do for this guy? “Hey, Buck, you want watermelon or grape?” Bucky turns to Clint, finding him wiggling the popsicles at him. “You wanna choose today? They’re melting, Bucky, c’mon!”

“Grape,” Bucky decides, grabbing the purple one. And no, it is not because he knows purple is Clint’s colour, thank you.

“Good choice,” Clint says, licking at the melted popsicle drops that have fallen onto his hand. “I prefer watermelon anyway.”

“I thought purple was your colour,” Bucky says absently. Fuck. There goes keeping that to himself. 

“Oh? You been watching me, Barnes?” Clint winks. 

Bucky shrugs. “Hard not to.” He puts the popsicle into his mouth and sucks on it, the flavour surprising him. “Huh, that ain’t half-bad.” It’s not exactly a cold day, and he can’t exactly take off his shirt, so the cold treat does wonders cooling him off. 

“Half-bad?” Clint blusters, a faint tinge of pink across his cheekbones, “Half-bad? That’s the best damn popsicle in all of New York, pal. ‘Not half-bad’, he says,” he grumbles, “I dare you to find something better to wrap your mouth around.”

“I can think of one thing,” Bucky says airily - and then he purposefully inhales the entirety of his popsicle and holds it in his mouth for a few seconds, keeping eye contact with Clint the whole time. He pulls it out and swallows the accumulated juice, then says, “My tongue purple yet?” He opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, smirking internally when Clint nearly chokes on his popsicle. 

“Not quite yet,” Clint says weakly.

“Better keep going then,” Bucky says thoughtfully. He does it again, relishing Clint’s muffled groan (super-soldier hearing sure does come in handy sometimes), and releases the much-reduced popsicle with a  _ pop _ . “How ‘bout now?” He says, sticking out his tongue again. 

“Little better,” Clint says hoarsely.

“Yours is melting,” Bucky says, nodding towards Clint’s neglected popsicle. “Need some help taking care of that?”

“Do you even hear how you sound?” Clint asks incredulously.

“Was kinda hopin’ you did,” Bucky says, shrugging. “My therapist has told me it would be a good idea to be more open about what I want. And I want you. So, you know, that’s out in the open.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes as Clint processes (Bucky finishes his popsicle and starts chewing on the stick), and Bucky should  _ probably _ be a little worried that Clint hasn’t said anything yet, but he’s not. Mostly because he knows that Clint purposefully takes more time to process things than most people, but also because he’s seen the way Clint looks at him when he thinks Bucky’s not watching. (Spoiler: Bucky’s always watching, and he’s  _ especially _ always watching Clint.)

“Yeah, okay,” Clint says abruptly, and even though Bucky wasn’t worried - really, he wasn’t - something loosens in his gut at Clint’s words. “Let’s do this."

“Movin’ a bit fast there, aren’t we?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I was just tryna get you to go on a date with me, but if you wanna skip that part -”

“No!” Clint blurts, then he blushes and says softly, “No. I- I’d like that. A date. With you. Going on one.”

“Great,” Bucky says, smiling at Clint (like a moron, all soft and sweet and  _ ugh _ ). “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Man, thank fuck for popsicles,” Clint says, and he shoves the rest of his popsicle in his mouth, reaches over and entwines his sticky fingers with Bucky’s equally as sticky fingers. “I’m so glad I agreed to this.”

“You agreed to this?” Bucky says, “Clint, you’re the one who dragged me halfway across the damn city to get frozen fruit juice on a stick.”

“Ah, but it was  _ delicious _ frozen fruit juice on a stick,” Clint says sagely, pointing a finger on his free hand at Bucky.

“I take it back,” Bucky grumbles, but he doesn’t pull his hand from Clint’s. If anything, he just squeezes tighter. “I don’t want to go on a date with you anymore.”

“Nope, you can’t back out now. I made my hand sticky for a reason, you know. Now we’re stuck together. Moo ha ha ha.”

Bucky stares at him. “Did you really just  _ say _ ‘moo ha ha ha’?”

Clint shrugs, blushing. “I have a really bad evil laugh, okay? I would’ve made a terrible supervillain.”

“I dunno,” Bucky shrugs, “I woulda let myself get kidnapped by you. Probably more than once, too.”

“Aw, Bucky, you do care,” Clint says, laughing. 

“Yeah, yeah, yuck it up wise guy,” Bucky grumbles, his cheeks warm. “Keep sassin’ me and I won’t test out the new purple lipstick I ordered on you.” Clint swallows audibly and Bucky grins. “That’s what I thought.”

“And that’s supposed to get here, when, exactly?” Clint is trying to sound indifferent, bless his heart, but he’s so bad at it. 

Bucky smirks. “Well, I used Stark’s card, so it’s probably waiting at the Tower right now. Too bad we’ve got to get through a whole three dates before I can use it.”

“Three dates?” Clint whines, “What, are we back in the ’40s or somethin’?”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t tell me you were expecting me to put out on the first date, Barton.”

“Well, I was hoping,” Clint pouts. “If three dates gets me a blowjob, what does one date get me, and completely related question, are you willing to negotiate?”

“One date  _ maybe _ gets you some over the clothes action,  _ if _ you’re good during the date,” Bucky says. “Negotiation is on the table. Whatcha got for me?”

“I’ll pick you up at your door if I can put my hand in your pants on the first date,” Clint says.

“Bring flowers, and only over the underwear,” Bucky counters. He’s actually having fun negotiating, which - is actually really weird to think about. So he doesn’t. Think about it, that is. He definitely negotiates. 

“I’ll pick you up, bring flowers and chocolate, and I get my-hand-on-your-dick privileges at the end of the first date,” Clint says, “Final offer.”

Bucky hems and haws jokingly. “You got yourself a deal, hotshot,” he says, grinning, and they shake hands. “Too bad you only just guaranteed  _ me _ a handjob outta tonight, and nothing for yourself.”

Clint opens his mouth to say something, Bucky doesn’t know what, and then his entire face falls and he looks absolutely  _ gutted _ . “Aw, negotiation, no,” Clint says sadly. 

Bucky can’t help it. He bursts into laughter, doubling over right there on the sidewalk. He laughs so hard his sides hurt and tears squeeze out of his eyes, and then he laughs some more. He laughs until he can’t breathe, and when he looks up and sees Clint glaring at him, face flushed a deep red, he laughs even harder. “Aw, Clint,” Bucky says when he’s done - he’s still wheezing, and he has to wipe tears away, “You really think I wouldn’t reciprocate? C’mon, I thought you knew me better than that.”

“That was a cruel prank, Barnes,” Clint grumbles, keeping his arms crossed. 

“Does that mean you don’t wanna hold my hand again?” Bucky asks, slightly worried that Clint is  _ actually _ mad. And then Clint shoves his hand into Bucky’s angrily and starts stomping towards the tower, dragging a laughing Bucky along behind him. 

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Clint says, and he presses an angry (can cheek kisses be angry?) kiss to Bucky’s cheek and stomps away, leaving Bucky laughing like an idiot in the lobby. 

~~~~~~

When Bucky answers the door that night, dressed in his finest clothing and wearing his purple lipstick - which was, in fact, waiting for him at the Tower - Clint nearly swallows his own tongue. “Thought that was a third date thing?” He asks once he’s recovered. He puts the flowers and chocolate on the little table just inside Bucky’s door and Bucky shuts the door behind him as they walk down the hallway.

Bucky shrugs. He takes Clint’s hand in the elevator and says, “I’ve always had a soft spot for guys who can make me laugh.” Clint beams at him, and Bucky can’t help but smile back softly, thoroughly in awe that this man has managed to break down all of his defences in such a short time. 

Bucky’s not complaining, mind you. He’s not complaining when Clint barely lets go of his hand the whole evening, and he’s  _ certainly _ not complaining when Clint shoves his hand down Bucky’s pants just inside his bedroom door after they get back. 

And he’s  _ positive _ that Clint isn’t complaining when Bucky drops to his knees in front of him a little while later and proceeds to test out his new lipstick. (It is, indeed, smudge-proof.) Clint is only a little disappointed that there’s nothing to remember it by, but then Bucky tells him that he’s welcome to try and smudge it again. 

Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever seen Clint move so fast. At the end of the evening when Clint wipes his thumb over Bucky’s kiss-swollen and spit-slick lips, it comes away purple. “Hah! Suck on that, lipstick people!” He crows triumphantly.

“I think I already did,” Bucky says dryly. 

And then Clint meets his eyes and they both double over laughing, leaning against each other for support. “So, if that was the result of our first date,” Clint says slyly, “What do you think will happen on the second date, and related question, are you up for negotiation?”

Bucky grins. “Whatcha got for me, hotshot?”


End file.
